


Biscuits and Pound Cake

by Anonymous



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: But only a little, Feeding Kink, Feedism, Fluff, Internalized Kink Shaming, M/M, Multi, Poly queen, Premature Ejaculation, Stuffing, Weight Gain, but feedist side is just maylor, this is a sequel, to another fic called cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 10:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19666093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: While John cooked, Roger lay between Freddie’s legs on the couch, humming, eyes closed as Freddie stroked his hair and pressed kisses to his fingers. He showed no outward sign of the pound cake sitting in his stomach, other than the occasional hiccup. Brian would glance up from his notes at the kitchen table at the noise each time, because every so often, he and Roger’s eyes would meet.Or - Brian and Roger explore new sexual inclinations, but John and Freddie can't be kept in the dark forever.





	Biscuits and Pound Cake

**Author's Note:**

> your girl is back with more sins. (you should read [cream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19381378) if you haven't already, this is a sequel.)
> 
> it's lAAAAte and i'm bleeding, deep inside, as i am only my period and its fuckin midnight ugh what am i doinG
> 
> hope you enjoy folks

“You know that time in the van?”

“What?”

Brian lay on his side, gazing at Roger. He could hear the sound of someone mucking about in the kitchen—either Freddie or John. He wouldn’t be surprised if whoever it was popped their head around Roger’s door soon.

Roger, who was lying on his back, waved a hand about. “You know. When we were running late. With the… button incident.”

“Oh,” Brian felt his face heat up, “Yes. I do remember.”

“That was… the hottest thing,” Roger confessed, voice low. He licked his lips, and Brian was transfixed, “I’ve never done that before.”

Brian was being ridiculous. Even the phrasing was driving him wild—not, ‘that’s never happened’ but ‘I’ve never done that’. There was just something about intention that really, ridiculously, got to him. He hummed, and pretended he wasn’t blushing as he reached a hand over to trail his fingers over the curve of Roger’s belly. “Have you not?”

“Mhm,” said Roger, staring, eyes half-lidded, at the pathway of Brian’s hand, “Fucking hot. I was hard the whole show, you know.”

Warm, Brian pushed himself up so he was hovering over Roger, palm firm and fingers splayed across his abdomen. He leaned in so that his breath hit Roger’s mouth when he spoke, “You had me so worked up, did you know that?”

Roger’s eyes fluttered closed. “Such a wonderful reward for,” he took Brian’s hand gently and shifted it to middle of his belly, so he could feel Roger’s navel against his palm, “my hard won efforts.”

At the same moment that Brian leant down to crush their lips together, the sound of the door swinging open crashed through his skull. Panic coursed through his body as he hurtled himself off of Roger, still half-hard in his briefs and hand on fire where it had been pressed against Roger’s soft, ample tummy. Freddie stood at the door, beaming.

“I should have known,” his eyes flickered over their forms, “You look gorgeous, my dears. Don’t let me interrupt.”

Brian could see Roger pulling down the hemline of his shirt covertly out of the corner of his eye. Freddie made eye contact with Brian. “But you—don’t think I didn’t notice that the ratio of his,” he gestured towards Roger, “custard creams, to my ginger nuts, is two to one, and I am registering a formal complaint at this blatant favouritism.”

“He eats more than you do, Fred,” said Brian, before he could consider his words. Beside him, Roger made a small noise like all the oxygen had suddenly left his body.

Freddie didn’t notice. “No need to enable him like that, Brian,” he said, shooting Roger a grin, “We can’t afford to run him on two packets of biscuits a week until we’ve made it big in rock ‘n’ roll.”

The moment Freddie was gone and the door was shut once more, Roger let out a low whine, both hands ghosting over his middle. His face was flushed when he looked up at Brian. “Did you really buy me extra biscuits, Bri?”

“I… might have,” said Brian, but there were other things suddenly on his mind. “Do you… should we tell Fred? And Deaks?”

Roger froze, blinking. “Tell them what?”

“About this. About this… thing we’re into.”

Roger bit his lip, shifting uncomfortably. Brian could tell he was running through his head a lot of the things that Brian himself had—they were all together, the four of them, and this would be a big secret to keep, especially because it would likely follow them into the bedroom. But it would also be an embarrassing one. Although Freddie’s teasing had been somewhat erotic in retrospect, the shame Brian had felt when he had burst in on them had been immense.

“I don’t really want to,” Roger finally said.

“We’ll have to eventually,” Brian reminded him, lifting a hand to thumb Roger’s soft jaw gently.

“Not yet,” Roger said, eyes flickering down to Brian’s lips, “I’m not ready yet.”

Brian swallowed, “Okay,” he said, and finally leaned down to kiss him.

When they parted, Roger threaded his fingers through Brian’s hair lazily. “What do you think Freddie would say if I finished both packets of custard creams right now?”

Brian let his hand ghost down to Roger’s side, “That you’re a very, very greedy boy, Roger.”

Roger bit back a moan, pressing the pads of his fingers into his belly, “Best not, then. He’d put me on a diet for sure.”

.

Brian had really underestimated what his role in he and Roger’s new relationship was going to involve, but in two weeks Roger had put on five new pounds. He did seem surprised when he stood on the scales, because, as he explained to Brian, his gain had not been this rapid in a very long time.

Not knowing whether to feel embarrassed or proud, Brian knelt on the bathroom floor and pressed his face into Roger’s belly. Roger let out a breathy laugh, carding a hand through Brian’s hair. “Guess this is on you, Bri.”

Brian let out a whine, blushing. So maybe he had had something to do with it. He had started picking up extra packets of custard creams after his classes—at first just as a joke between the two of them, but then again and again when he realised how much he liked seeing Roger lick crumbs off of his fingers. And maybe he’d been serving Roger slightly larger portions when it was his turn to cook, but in his defence Roger’s behaviour had shifted slightly too. He was always prepared for seconds and made an effort to clean up the other’s plates, especially Brian’s. Always whining about how he was hungry.

One morning Brian had sat watching over his coffee as Roger went through slice after slice of raspberry jam on toast, chest thick with the domestic tension that edged on the side of erotic. After the seventh slice he’d put his mug in the sink and kissed the jam off of Roger’s lips, biting down gently in punishment because they couldn’t afford to feed Roger a loaf of bread every morning for breakfast.

Brian let his chin rest against Roger’s middle as he gazed up at him, arms wrapped around Roger’s waist. “Can’t be all my fault,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t force anything down you.”

“And you didn’t buy me _any_ extra custard creams, did you?” Roger smirked, hand going to cup the side of Brian’s face.

Brian titled his head into Roger’s touch, humming. “You didn’t have to eat them. Could have left them in the pantry.” Then he startled at the feeling of Roger’s leg pressing between his thighs.

“Freddie would have had you castrated if he’d seen them,” Roger said, biting away a grin, “God, Brian, hard from numbers? What a fucking nerd.”

“Fuck off, Rog,” said Brian, pressing his hand against the soft material of Roger’s covered crotch, blushing. “Do I need to remind you that you’re also a pervert?”

Roger hummed. “No, you’re right,” he said silkily, and Brian shifted his hands back to squeeze his love handles, “Numbers get me off too. Especially big ones.”

Brian nosed at Roger’s underbelly, pressing a couple of kisses to it and then to Roger’s hardening cock. Roger groaned, and Brian felt a hand come to rest in his hair. “Brian. Deaky will be back soon.”

“He won’t care,” Brian murmured, “Wanna suck you off. Think of it as a reward.”

Roger couldn’t argue with that. He moaned, fingers tightening in Brian’s hair.

(John opened the door to use the bathroom just as Brian was spitting come into the sink. Unfazed, he said nothing, but a grin was twitching at his lips.)

.

“What’s this?”

Brian twisted the tap off and put the glass of water to his lips, swinging back around to where Roger was staring, perplexed, at the brown paper bag Brian had just placed on top of his notes. He opened his mouth to tell Roger to look inside, but he was already on it, pulling the paper down to reveal a cardboard box. Flushing, he turned away to scull the last of his water so he wouldn’t have to see the look on Roger’s face when he opened the box to reveal the iced, rectangular pound cake within.

Roger let out a little snort of amusement, and Brian whipped back around to face him. “Is this a present, or a challenge, Bri?” He asked, his lashes dipping flirtingly.

Brian set his empty glass on the bench. “Why not both?”

Roger laughed properly this time. “Get a knife, then.”

He did, and Roger cut them both a slice, setting them on small plates. Brian sat across from him at the table and pretended not to be watching, taking quick bites of his own slice. It was good—not too crumbly, dense in his mouth, gently vanilla. Roger seemed to agree, finishing his slice just a little before Brian did and reaching for the knife almost instantly.

Cutting a slice about twice the size of the last, Roger looked up at Brian suddenly. “What… should I—”

“You can have as much as you like, Rog,” said Brian, like he knew they were Roger’s favourite words. Roger nodded, lifting the slice out of the box and onto his plate. He carefully licked his forefinger and thumb clean of icing, eyes fluttering closed.

Brian, as per usual, very quickly became mesmerised as Roger ate. He did so as though no one was watching him, as though he was becoming lost in it, the methodical pleasure of biting and chewing and tasting and swallowing. Half way in, he let out a little hum of satisfaction, eyes flickering up to meet Brian’s. “Cut me another piece, love?”

Hands fumbling, Brian did as instructed, cutting off another piece of cake about the same size as Roger had cut. Roger quickly finished off his slice and picked up the next without hesitation, taking a big enough bite that icing ended up smearing around his mouth. Brian felt the arousal spark within him as Roger’s tongue darted out to lick it off.

At first Roger was mechanical in his consumption, but a third of the way through the cake and a hand was drifting down to rest on his belly, moans escaping around enormous mouthfuls. If there was anything Brian loved almost as much as the weight on Roger, it was the noises he made when he ate. Hums of contentment, breathy sighs, filthy, needy whines—they gave away his gluttony. Brian felt weak. He cut Roger another piece.

Roger paused before picking it up, leaning forwards and letting a hand rest on the apex of his belly under the table. Brian feigned innocence. “Full, Rog?”

Roger shook his head. “No,” he lied, “Still hungry. So hungry.”

And so he ate the next slice with fervour, and the one after that. The cake was soon half gone, and when Roger leaned back, licking crumbs off of his lips and resting his hands on his belly, Brian spoke again. “You might need to slow down. Fred and Deaks will get suspicious if you can’t finish dinner.”

Roger didn’t move at first but looked at him, breathing shallowly, before opening his mouth to say, “Don’t worry. I can always finish dinner.”

When Brian didn’t move to cut another slice, too stunned by his own arousal, Roger heaved himself forward, messily cutting another himself and shoving half of it into his mouth at once. Brian bit back a moan, closing his eyes. “ _Fuck_ , Roger.”

Soon finding himself on board with this new plan, Brian made himself useful by cutting another hunk of cake. Roger hiccupped and then whined, hand resting atop his belly and pressing down gently. “Bri—it’s so much, it feels like so much—”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” breathed Roger, “’S good. I want more. Lots. _Fuck_.”

Roger suited decadence, Brian thought dizzyingly. His shirt was smeared white with icing, stretched across his generous midriff. His belly heaving with each breath. Cake in one hand, the other teasing the hemline of his shirt up further and further.

When he finally reached for the last slice, Brian felt far gone enough in his own arousal to tease. “You really need that, Rog?”

“Yes,” Roger moaned, giving his belly a squeeze. “I need it. I need it so bad.”

“Fuck,” Brian breathed, and Roger groaned out of ecstasy around the final bites, licking every last crumb from his fingers. The both of them were suddenly struck with the realisation that there was about four pounds of cake sitting heavily in Roger’s tummy and Brian didn’t hesitate for a second before he was at Roger’s side, taking his belly with two hands.

Roger lifted his arms to give him better access, still licking the last of his fingers clean, and laughed breathily when Brian hiked up his shirt fully to plant kisses all over his stomach. “Beautiful, Rog,” Brian groaned, “Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

With clumsy fingers, Brian unbuttoned Roger’s jeans for him and slid his hands between the waistband and the soft flesh to free it from its confines. There were red marks imprinted on his underbelly from the tightness. Humming, sated, Roger leaned forward so that his belly rested gently on his thighs.

“What I would give for you to fuck me right now,” he purred, leaning into Brian close enough that Brian couldn’t help but to bridge the gap between them with a kiss. And then, when they parted, “We still have lube left, right?”

“I think I used the last of it with Freddie,” Brian confessed.

“Olive oil, then.”

“I think,” Brian said, carefully rubbing Roger’s belly with two hands, “You can wait till after dinner, Rog.”

He conceded, not without several displays of exasperation.

The other two arrived home soon after that. While John cooked, Roger lay between Freddie’s legs on the couch, humming, eyes closed as Freddie stroked his hair and pressed kisses to his fingers. He showed no outward sign of the pound cake sitting in his stomach, other than the occasional hiccup. Brian would glance up from his notes at the kitchen table at the noise each time, because every so often, he and Roger’s eyes would meet and he would get shivers of arousal.

John had concocted some kind of casserole, a meal with a cooking time a tad longer than most but still not long enough for Roger’s cake to be digested. Brian could tell from the face he pulled when John came over to the couch with the portion he had dished him out—no bigger than normal, though bigger than the portions the other three were given. John seated himself at the table next to Brian, poking at the steaming, cheesy pasta with his fork.

From his vantage point at the table, Brian could see Roger attack his meal with gusto, shovelling forkfuls of pasta into his mouth, but as it disappeared it started to go down slower and slower. Pressed up against Freddie on the couch he shifted uncomfortably, surreptitiously adjusting the waistband of his jeans. They had been buttoned back up before John and Freddie had got home—with some difficulty, and they were only getting tighter.

The triumphant glisten in Roger’s eyes when he finished his meal was short-lived, as Freddie immediately turned to him. “Rog, want to finish this off?”

Roger blinked, hesitating for a few moments, and Freddie gasped in mock horror. “Roger!” he then gestured wildly towards John and Brian, “Our darling Roger is on a diet!”

“Jesus, Fred,” Roger grumbled, snatching his bowl off of him, “Can a man not take two seconds to consider?”

Not afforded this luxury, Roger had very obviously made the wrong decision. Even as he scraped Freddie’s bowl clean, he was grimacing, stifling a belch behind his hand. In a rare moment, Brian found himself thoroughly amused and with his arousal under control. He stood and, with finesse, made his way across the room to scrape the rest of his pasta into Freddie’s empty bowl.

“We wouldn’t want you to waste away, Rog,” he said, making eye contact with Roger.

He turned around before he could see Roger’s reaction, but once he was in the kitchen he looked back to see him tucking in without verbal complaint.

John appeared next to Brian at the casserole dish, tapping the serving spoon against it. “Anyone want this last bit?”

Brian peered over from where he was rinsing his bowl. It was about a serving—worth saving, of course, they were students—but they weren’t used to having things to save when they came from a casserole dish. Roger would usually take care of that, on days where he hadn’t eaten an entire cake before their evening meal.

Brian turned off the tap, a smile quirking at his lips. “Roger?” He called, setting his bowl beside the sink.

There was silence. John tapped the serving spoon against the dish again. “Rog?”

Finally, after perhaps a few beats of a silence, came the high-pitched response of faux enthusiasm. “Sure!”

John dropped the spoon into the dish with a clatter. “Come get it.”

“ _Fuck_ you.”

Brian snorted with amusement, rummaging around the cabinets for a glass to fill with water. Roger’s hopeful voice came floating over: “Brian?”

Freddie swatted at Roger, tutting. “You’re lazy, Roger, you’re not without legs.”

“Fuck you too,” said Roger, and then paused for as long as he could without raising suspicion before heaving himself off of the couch. He held Brian’s gaze as he padded into the kitchen, not leaving it even as he scooped up the last of the casserole and let it drop into his bowl. Brian watched him retreat, letting his eyes rest gently on his love handles.

He felt John’s arms wrap around him from behind, pressing his face between Brian’s shoulder blades. Brian stroked John’s arms idly, watching Roger determinedly making his way through the pasta. He was struggling only to Brian’s knowledgeable eye—breathing a little laboured, bowl resting slightly against a stomach stuffed to capacity already with multiple servings of pasta bake, the cake, on top of whatever he’d already eaten that day. Brian bit his lip, feeling his cock twitch with interest.

Once finished, Roger leaned back, looking positively replete. Hands twitching towards his belly, eyes drooping—well aware he was doing a rubbish job of not making it obvious that he was stuffed beyond belief, he wriggled himself to the edge of the couch and slowly stood, unable to help the one hand splayed across his stomach.

“Gotta go finish some study,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to John’s cheek as he passed him and Brian, “Thanks, love.”

Brian knew that using the same excuse to extricate himself from John’s arms was weak, but he had limited time before either he or Freddie was going to notice his unexplainable hard-on.

He found Roger sitting on Brian’s bed, lying propped up against the headboard, both hands resting on his swollen middle and his eyes closed. They fluttered open when Brian entered the room, closing the door behind him.

“I’m,” said Roger, and then hiccupped, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth.

Brian sat on the edge of the bed, brows furrowing, “It wasn’t too much, was it? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“No,” Roger shook his head, “It was perfect. It was hot.” He let his hand slide down to where his belly was spilling over his still buttoned jeans, giving the taunt flesh a small smack.

“Need help?”

“Please,” Roger groaned.

Brian dived in to unbutton the jeans, not without some difficulty. Roger sighed with relief when the zipper was pulled down, his distended stomach eagerly filling the new space, pressing up against the splayed zips. Brian pressed both hands on either side of Roger’s belly and Roger’s eyes rolled back with pleasure.

“There’s so much in me,” he panted.

“I know,” said Brian, giving his midriff a jiggle that made Roger moan, loudly.

“ _Fuck_. Don’t do that. I’ll come in my pants, I swear. I feel _fuck_ ing enormous.”

Brian, who had never seen Roger this gorged before, thought he might do the same at those words. He groaned, crushing their lips together, hands sliding down to squeeze Roger’s plump sides. Roger was complacent for only a minute before pulling away, breathing heavily and licking his lips.

“I think I might be thirsty, Bri.”

Brian stared at him. “You’re kidding me.”

“Of course I’m not kidding,” Roger blinked to feign innocence, one hand patting his gut. “A tall glass of something to wash down my meal?”

“You’re a glutton,” Brian licked his lips.

“I’m a growing lad,” Roger’s eyes flickered down to watch Brian’s tongue, half-lidded.

He was a minx, is what Brian thought, traipsing to the kitchen to fetch Roger’s request. He poured a little more of the milk than he really needed, so that he could sip at it as he walked back past John and Freddie, huddled together on the couch.

Roger was waiting in the same spot when Brian returned, hands sliding across his taunt belly, opening one eye when Brian closed the door again. Fat and spoiled, Brian thought as he handed him the glass. “My lord,” he said, but any snarkiness left his body the minute Roger lifted the glass to his lips.

He gulped so quickly, so needy, one hand still sliding over his plentiful midriff. Partway through, without stopping, he shifted his position ever so slightly, belly wobbling with the movement, a small, desperate noise of pleasure slipping out.

Soon it was gone and Roger’s pink tongue was darting out to lick the milk off of his mouth. “Mhmf. Fuck.”

“Good?” Brian asked, pretending he wasn’t hard and leaking in his trousers.

Roger stifled a belch behind his hand, leaning back till his head hit the wall and then sighing, one hand resting on his tummy. “Yes. Very.”

Brian took the glass off his hands and set it on the bedside table. His eyes half-lidded, he took Roger’s belly—warm and overfed—in two hands and gave it a little shake, ignoring his earlier protests. “Greedy,” he accused.

“Am I?” Roger licked his lips lazily, closing his eyes and moaning when Brian shook again and more vigorously. “ _Fuck._ ”

“A right pig,” said Brian, right against Roger’s ear, giving his overstuffed belly a slap.

Roger let out a cry of ecstasy, before slumping in place, babbling and cursing between great heaving breaths. True to his word, Brian realised, he had shot off in his pants.

“Shit,” Roger groaned, shaking against Brian, “I told you. _Shit_.”

.

Brian knew that they couldn’t have kept all the kinky sex they were having from their other two partners forever, but it still made him nervous when the cracks began to appear.

“I think John suspects something,” Roger said one morning when John and Freddie were both at classes.

Brian watched him sip his coffee for a moment before he asked, “What do you mean?”

Roger set his mug down and explained how, fucking around last night, John had grabbed Roger’s belly—without any real intention, it seemed, but that didn’t mean Roger hadn’t let out an inordinately loud moan at the sensation. Attentive as he was, John had continued with the course of action and it hadn’t taken long before Roger had come all over his stomach and John’s left hand.

“So?” Brian feigned calm, but his head was spinning, “His stomach is an erogenous zone too. He probably doesn’t find it that weird.”

“But not _that_ erogenous, Brian. Not so erogenous it makes him come in five seconds flat.”

Brian scoffed. “It was not five seconds.”

“Maybe a minute,” Roger insisted, picking up his mug, “And you _know_ Deaky. He’s going to figure it out.”

“Well, let’s just tell him then. And Freddie. We were never going to hide it forever.”

Roger fidgeted, setting his mug down again and tapping his fingers on the side. He sighed dramatically, puffing his cheeks up and blowing the air out again. “They’re gonna think it’s weird.”

“They’re not. They both have their fair share of… eccentricities, in bed.”

“I can’t lose them, Bri.” Roger insisted, gaze practically scorching the tabletop. “And what about the band—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Brian said, as though his stomach wasn’t churning. “It’s going to be fine. Fred will tease, but neither of them is going to care.”

But Brian didn’t feel like Roger was being ridiculous, he thought as he walked into the lecture theatre for the first class of the day. John and Freddie loved them, he knew—but would they be able to love this? And they would have questions no doubt, questions that neither he nor Roger had the answers to yet. Questions like _why_? And, _how big_? And _health_ , and _money_ , and possibly all kinds of rhetorical ones about sadism.

Brian rubbed his eyes, staring blankly at his notes. Self-hatred that he had recently repressed was unfurling, insidious and cold, inside of him.

Despite this, inexplicably, he bought Roger not one but two packets of biscuits after his classes—not custard creams but jammie dodgers, as they were on sale. Roger sat up from where he was curled up on the couch when Brian walked in, dropping his stuff on the kitchen table and fishing out the biscuits.

“Snack?” Roger asked sleepily, and Brian knelt in front of the couch and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

Pulling away, he wrestled the first packet of biscuits open and placed one between Roger’s waiting lips. Roger leaned back, taking a bite and sighing with contentment. When the first was gone, he made grabby hands for the packet and Brian gave it to him, setting the other packet on the couch against Roger’s thigh.

“Two?” Roger opened his eyes briefly, and Brian nodded, leaning in to press a couple of kisses to Roger’s neck. He revelled in the way Roger relaxed under his ministrations, running his hands slowly up and down Roger’s thighs. He waited until Roger was halfway through the first packet to touch his tummy, gently running his hands over it and watching it bounce, doughy.

When he glanced up Roger’s face was peaceful, eyes closed as he chewed, languidly licking the crumbs off of his lips. Brian lifted his shirt and Roger made a small noise and reached for another biscuit. Resting his hands on the warm, soft skin of Roger’s waist, Brian began pressing small kisses to his belly, experimentally licking just next to Roger’s naval.

Roger let out a low moan, taking the last biscuit from the packet. “God, I love you.”

Brian’s chest warmed. In response, he stretched up to press a kiss to Roger’s mouth. Roger groaned and ran a hand through Brian’s hair. When they pulled away just a little Roger gave the crumb-covered index finger of his other hand a small lick, holding Brian’s gaze steadily.

Brian moved back down to Roger’s belly, pressing his face into the soft flesh, listening to the gurgling within and running his fingers along the sides, letting them slide into the small rolls to be found there.

When the door opened, Brian’s blood ran cold.

His first instinct was to spring away, but first he was frozen in place and whoever had just walked in had done so with such vigour that there was no time. Brian’s head snapped up, hands still on Roger’s thighs, to see Freddie stalk in, already pulling off his satchel.

When Freddie looked at them, his gaze did linger for a moment, but soon he was powering on, dumping his satchel next to Brian’s stuff on the kitchen table.

“Thank fuck that was cancelled,” he huffed.

Brian met Roger’s gaze finally, and it was understandably equal parts shocked and confused. Brian glanced back at Freddie, who had picked up a glass from the kitchen counter and was filling it with tap water.

Roger finally moved, shoving Brian off of him, pulling down his shirt with one hand while the other attempted to squeeze the empty biscuit packet between the couch cushions. Freddie turned at the crinkly noise, glass of water in hand, and tutted.

“We’re not doing this again, are we?”

“Doing what?” Roger squeaked. Brian had lost his voice entirely, horror stretching across his features.

Freddie gestured vaguely towards the pair of them, “Pretending you two aren’t having kinky food sex at every spare opportunity. Your lack of faith in my deduction skills is getting frankly insulting.”

Brian was shaking. His mouth was dry, completely void of words. “I—” Roger tried, “We’re not—”

“We _live_ together, we have _sex_ together, and god if the enormous pile of empty packages of custard creams under Brian’s bed wasn’t a clue—”

“That wasn’t—”

“You,” Freddie pointed at Roger, a smile twitching at his lips, “are no good at not touching. And you,” then at Brian, “are no good at not staring. You were both obvious as anything.”

There was silence for a good few moments. Then, because Brian was still entirely tongue-tied, Roger spoke once more. “John worked it out and told you, didn’t he?”

Freddie laughed, loudly, and conceded. “He might have.”

Roger groaned and covered his eyes, “Fucking told you, Bri.”

But Brian was on another planet, so much so that he didn’t notice Freddie moving towards them until he was knelt on the floor beside him. Brian felt fear gripping at his heart, but it began to calm as he looked into Freddie’s face and saw nothing but kindness, coupled with perhaps a little bit of mirth.

“We’ll wait until John gets home,” said Freddie, brushing the hair out of Brian’s face gently, “and then we’ll talk about this, properly.”

Brian accepted the kiss Freddie pressed to his lips, and then watched as Roger was given the same. He felt a wave of relaxation come over him, and though his heart was still thumping, he had a feeling like it was all going to be okay.

“I’ve said it before,” said Freddie suddenly, getting to his feet, “But, my dears, don’t let me interrupt. Those jammie dodgers certainly aren’t going to eat themselves, Rog.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm neglecting john so much in this so far, i know, i promise i love him so much and maybe one day i'll write more that involves him 
> 
> have a lovely day, i hope a custard cream finds its way to you!
> 
> (edit: i now have a tumblr if u wanna get in contact w me, have ideas, wanna chat, idk i'm friendly! its [@custardqqueen](https://custardqqueen.tumblr.com/))


End file.
